mental hospital

Mental Hospital: Happy Birthday I was at A’s house and brought around drinks and weed and 3 baby shrooms. I said that I’d tripped enough the last 2 weeks but they needed to combine Heart-Body-Mind == Alcohol-Cannabis-Shrooms in order to open their Third Eye. These three substances are known for their relatively safe altered perception, combining them is how I opened mine, it related to a lot of Bible verses about loving the Lord your God with all your heart, strength and mind – these verse always talked about God being One and great things happening if you follow this commandment. It only made sense. They thought I was crazy and we all laughed it off. I left it and we sat and smoked some cones. My friends, A, C and N went inside and I sat and tried playing my new viola. I was shit. It sounded horrible. I decided it was best to try it out when no one is around, lest they hate me for it. A comes back outside and says “Hey man, your parents are here?!” “What the fuck, how did they know I was here? They thought I was at C’s.” “I dunno man, they’re at the door.” I was pretty tolerant of weed at this point, but my perception was altered after 3 trips in 2 and a half weeks. My Uncle, my Mum and my Step-Dad were all there and looked concerned. The seemed so concerned that I thought they must have been in on some kind of secret. They asked me to come with them. They thought I was doing too many drugs. We went home, when we got there they asked what I had been thinking about. Being stoned, I felt quite open, having had many realisations recently, I was ecstatic. So I enthusiastically told them how I thought that I was God and indeed they were God also. I got into a flow-state and sat there watching myself speak freely. I told them that if I got around 12 friends together and we all combined the aforementioned Trio of substances that we could witness Magic and ascend into Heaven together. I thought I was clearly talking metaphorically about group-mentalities and group-hallucinations, about blissfulness and serenity – but they thought I was totally insane. I was asked to come with them to see the psychiatrist in at the Emergency Ward in Hospital. I obliged, thinking that someone as highly trained as a psychiatrist would be in the know about Buddhism and Psychedelics, and being able to tell the difference between drug-use and illness. Boy was I wrong. They interrogated me with a checklist. I told them I thought I was God as are you. They handed me off to the next person, and they asked “oh, so you think you’re God”, to which I responded “not exactly, I think you are God as well.” They took notes, and went on to the next person. “Oh, so you think you’re God”, again I told them they had it wrong, please get it correct, the distinction is highly important, one is egoic, the other is The Universal Energy of Oneness. I was given a room to stay in, no desk to sit at and write my thoughts down. It turns out another patient had a friend who had hung herself in the room I was staying in. I said I was sorry for her loss and shuddered inside. What a horrible place, to be called crazy and then locked into a room of crazies in the hopes that you might get better. I met a schizophrenic in there who had taken shrooms a bunch of times, said he’d seen heaven in the sky and all sorts of things. He reads colours as meaning, and apparently arrived after seeing MH370, which he interpreted to mean “Missing Home, 37 days” and indeed 37 days later he arrived in hospital, or what he called Home. I asked him questions about interpretation, Green and Gold are the Australian colours, but they mean Sand and Grass as well as Nature and Prosperity. Blue and White was Baby Blue, they combine into the colour babies wear, and so was a symbol of being mothered as baby boy. He was let out 2 days later, even though he was smoking weed everyday in the showers. I questioned life and death, purpose and meaning. I developed further hate for my Mum and Step-Dad, they had made me suicidal since the age of 12, so the disposition was palpable, although I always acted as though I loved them. I was given 1 day of supervised leave. My Mum picked me up and took me home. On the way we crossed a bridge and I thought of the friend I had made in hospital who said he almost jumped off it the day before he arrived and the ambulance rocked up and dragged him in. This in my mind I said to my Mum in complete anger “If you take me back to that hell hole I’ll probably jump off the bridge as soon as I get the chance. That place is the worst.” She went into shock. I asked her “what do you want from me!? What is it you want from me?” After all, she was the one who decided to curse me into this existence, the one who sent me into hospital, I wanted to know why. When we got home I went to have a cigarette, because I was fuming. My Step Dad told me “you’re not allowed to smoke here.” I responded “bullshit, that’s fucking stupid, you used to be a smoker and you smoked here all the time.” To which he said “my house, my rules.” Your children, your slaves, I thought, even though I’m not even his child. So I said I was going for a drive to have a smoke if they aren’t going to let me smoke here. They said they didn’t think that was a good idea. I told them where to go and drove off. I drove around the block, had my smoke, and came back. By then, they had called the Police. When I got back they told me they thought I was going to jump off the bridge. I said they were idiots, didn’t they listen, I wanted a cigarette. They told me they had called the Police and they were on their way to take me back – I had ruined my one trial day out of the hospital. So I figured this was no place for me. I started collecting all of my clothes and other possessions and put them into my car. My friend’s dad arrived and he asked me if I wanted a smoke. I went and had a smoke with him and told him that obviously I wasn’t going to just drive off, I stood no chance against the Police, I just wanted to scare my parents after they’ve ruined my life, yet again, and got me to consider killing myself, yet again. wp_20160407_18_17_21_pro PICU Art Room – I’m Crazy In Love I went back into the hospital with the Police, and was drugged up even more (Valium and Olanzapine and Paliperidone). I had messaged the girl, H, that I thought I wanted to marry from Trip 4, and she was coming into town to meet me. I was originally going to spend my day out with her and have someone who cared for me to talk things out with. By the time she made it in, I was back in Hospital, although, this time in PICU, the Intensive Care Unit. No sunlight, no outside, no desks, the worst place. wp_20160407_18_17_09_pro So H arrived and I told her as much as I could. It was a relatively uninteresting exchange and she left – I got the impression that she didn’t care about me either, she likely only came because she thought of herself as a good person and wanted to reinforce that belief to herself. wp_20160407_18_17_13_pro PICU Art Room – I spent most of my time taking notes of what I was thinking about. I came up with a website design which I knew would take me years to work through, probably a lifetime to organise. I came up with a quote with a drawing attached: on the top it had “Everything”, below that it said “Is Greater Than” and on the bottom it said “Nothing”. There was an arrow point from Nothing to Everything and an arrow pointing from Everything to Nothing. What it means is “Everything Is Greater Than Nothing” and “Nothing Is Greater Than Everything”. Both statements are true, as Everything is by definition greater than nothing, and Everything is obviously the greatest thing there is, therefore there is no thing greater than it. It was a loop of infinite truth. I know, in Mathematics there are infinite infinities, and that there is also infinite nothing, but the two together create an order of self-creation. Each nothing implies an everything bigger than it, which implies a nothing that is even bigger than that, this further implies an everything that is bigger still, and so on and so forth. What it meant to me was that I could give up on my life and do nothing, or say “fuck it” and do everything, if it was going to be so ridiculous to this society to kill myself, I didn’t want to look like a dickhead nobody, I wanted to escape this horrible reality, but I figured, even if it was the harder of the two options, that I could also escape by doing everything – never getting bored, playing basketball, juggling, writing; just going at it until I die. Either way, it was the same to me, but to everyone else, living was better than dying. wp_20160407_18_17_25_pro A month later, I got out. I started organising myself to move out of home. I was still smoking weed against the doctor’s orders. They had diagnosed me as Bipolar, but I think everyone is bipolar, it just depends on the life circumstances you are in. You wouldn’t say to someone mourning a loss that they are depressed, or someone who won the lottery that they are manic. I had won the lottery with ‘having my third eye opened’, and was mourning the loss of all of my friends. Because I had found out that it was A who spoke to C and N, they had decided to call C’s father M who called my Mum, and then put me into hospital. I had no one left. I was alone. I am alone. I spent my 21st birthday in there. And I was neither happy nor sad. I felt grounded by the realisation that had eluded me my whole life. Instead of the anxiety of “maybe they don’t love me” or the excitement of “maybe they do love me” or the happiness of “they don’t love me” but the cold, hard truth of “they’ll say they love me, but their actions are not the actions that I love, therefore they do not love me in the way that I call love: They do not love me.” I know, I know, everyone always, everyone always, everyone always says that they were only trying to help me. I felt like I was being crucified like Jesus Christ, tempted to kill myself by the Devil. Instead I chose to say “forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Even the Principal of the school I had attended heard about my shroom trips ending with me in hospital. He made a speech at the start of the semester warning all of the students. I finished there as the top student of 1200. They were only trying to help me, sure. They ruined my reputation, put me through hell, gave me a medical record of potential insanity, a judge-ordered prescription of injections of a substance that seemed to only put me to sleep and completely hinder my ability to do mathematics (I had gotten 98% for a University first year Calculus class two years earlier). They called them anti-psychotics and mood stabilisers – really, it makes you so tired that you can’t think through your feelings far enough to act out any of your worries or anger, or joy or love. The were only trying to help me, sure… What a horrible place, to be called crazy and then locked into a room of crazies in the hopes that it might help you to get better. The doctors and nurses asked nothing more than “how are you?” to which all I replied was “not too bad” meanwhile I was thinking no, I’m not too bad, I’m feeling fucking horrible! Most of the time they would ask me how I was doing and walk off before I got the chance to answer, literally 80% of the time. I started counting how often it happened and stopped after a week.

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